


Tender Lies

by monopolizeme



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt, M/M, Memories, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monopolizeme/pseuds/monopolizeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can feel Derek beneath him now, can hear the labored breaths, his closed eyelids mapped with spider veins as he breathes in and out, in and out, lips parted slightly, skin much too pale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tender Lies

Stiles remembers when he was six-years-old and his mother cupped his chin in her hand, he remembers the warmth in her eyes, although not the color; he remembers the softness of her palm and the small pronounced knuckles and the way the edges of her mouth quirked in amusement whenever he furrowed his eyebrows with exaggeration and went cross-eyed and puffed out his cheeks like the puffer fish he saw on TV. He remembers how her mouth would open when she laughed even though he cannot remember the sounds that she would make.

He doesn’t have many memories of his mother. He wishes that he did, painfully so, but all of those memories seem to have tucked themselves away in the sense-memory of his body, and not in the patches of his consciousness where he wish they would have stayed. His elbows itch sometimes whenever someone touches them, because that is where his mother would gently grasp when she coaxed him onto his lap; there is a patch of skin above his ear, at the edge of his hairline, which is overly sensitive to the touch, because that is where the razor blade nicked and drew tiny droplets of blood when his mother gave him his first buzzed haircut and slipped when Stiles wouldn’t stop squirming.

He doesn’t remember the conversations that they used to have, he doesn’t remember what she used to say when she tucked him into bed at night; he doesn’t remember if she ate with her left hand or with her right and whether or not she shared his father’s disdain for dark green vegetables.

Stiles has one memory most distinct, and he hates that he has it but it stays with him regardless, flaring to life when he is in the quiet of his room, or in the still darkness of the woods or in his jeep.

He remembers her lying in the hospital bed, and he doesn’t know if she had been dressed in one of those lavender-colored gowns or if it was white or pink – but he remembers the way her fingers grasped at his wrist and the thin strained noises she made when she breathed, in and out, in and out. He remembers trembling and the taste of saltwater in the back of his throat as he wondered when the rhythm would stop.

_It’s going to be alright,_ she had assured him in that tender way that he thinks was usual for her. _It’s going to be alright, my beautiful boy._ She had linked her fingers with his and he remembers the brush of dry skin and the hard curl of metal from the ring she wore; it burned his skin, infused with the heat of her flesh.

_I wish I could see you grow,_ she had said, voice breaking slightly but she had smiled for him, pale eyes glassy and wet but she smiled for him still, despite the pain. _You’re going to grow up so beautifully and you’re going to fall in love and that person will treasure you for all you're worth. You’ll find that person who you’ll spend the rest of your life with. I only wish I could see it, but oh, how it will be wonderful. It will be the most wonderful thing you will ever know._

Stiles hates that those were the last words he had ever heard from her, hates that she believed in such things for him and hates that she had lied.

He can feel Derek beneath him now, can hear the labored breaths, his closed eyelids mapped with spider veins as he breathes in and out, in and out, lips parted slightly, skin much too pale.

_Stiles,_ he rasps, his chest rising and falling heavily with the word, straining to speak, to breathe, to hold on.

Derek is blurred beneath Stiles’ vision, his body a heavy weight on Stiles’ folded knees as Stiles curves over him. His hand skirts over the black, swollen veins that covers Derek’s abdomen, slithering up his left arm and the tendons of his neck.

_You have to do it, Stiles,_ Derek says, and Stiles just nods.

Derek’s body is riddled with wolfsbane bullets and the hunter who had made his mark is far gone now. Stiles can feel the swell of Derek’s heart pushing up against his rib cage, against Stiles' palm pressed over it, trying to keep it from bursting through the confines of muscle and tissue and bone, but he can’t.

_Stiles –_

_I know, Derek._

Stiles wishes that he didn’t feel so numb, knows that he should feel more, but Derek is dying in his arms, and Stiles feels like death has crept into his own senses and he can’t feel a thing.

_Stiles, listen to me,_ Derek says, and the words come out in a stream of urgency. _You have to- you’re going to be alright. You’re going to be happy._

Stiles shakes his head. He puts his fingers that won’t stop trembling over Derek’s lips and tries to push the words back into his mouth but Derek’s lips are slippery with black ink-blood and he can’t seem to grasp the syllables that Derek pushes out with each labored breath.

_You’ll fall in love-_

_Don’t-_

_Listen to me, Stiles._ Derek bites out, his body convulses suddenly and he violently jerks in Stiles' lap and Stiles holds onto him, presses his hand harder against the pulsing organ and buries his face into Derek’s neck until he stills.

Stiles’ nostrils burn with the smell of sulfur and his eyes water and he’s not sure if it is from the fumes or his own stupid broken self.

Derek’s voice is very soft.

_I don’t want you to, I don’t. I don’t want you to belong to anyone else. But you need to. You’ll love someone else. And you deserve that. Because-_ his teeth clench, eyelids struggling to raise if only just slightly so he can look into Stiles’ face.

Stiles presses his mouth against Derek’s, the slippery metallic taste crawling into his mouth but he needs this, needs Derek to quiet because he can’t hear those words, not again, not those broken promises not when-

He feels the spasm clench of muscles as he pushes the blade _down_ through rutted tissue and sinews. He feels Derek gasp beneath his mouth, drawing Stiles’ air in sharply and Stiles lets him, lets him breathe in all Stiles has because Stiles knows that there is _nothing left_ anyway --

And then Derek isn’t taking anything at all.

Stiles can’t seem to move, he’s breathing in and out, in and out, and Derek is not. A sob rips from Stiles’ throat that he hadn’t realized that he had been holding in, and his fingers drag away from the cold rough handle, falls down the breadth of Derek’s chest as he grapples for Derek’s fingers.

His lungs constrict too painfully and Stiles feels as if his lungs are folding in on themselves, shrinking against his ribcage with each heaving breath. His spine aches from being harshly curved over Derek’s body and his eyelashes are matted wet.

He curls his fingers with Derek’s but they do not return the gesture. He feels the bump of knuckles and Derek’s hands are still warm. He feels the press of flesh and the hard curve of metal around Derek’s finger, still hot from the blood that had been pulsing through Derek’s veins and tendons.

The metal band on Stiles’ own finger is cold.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I am so very sorry for this. I have never written a fic that had an ending such as this and I promise I will never do so again. This was written in response to a "[kill me](http://monopolizeme.tumblr.com/post/44072220641/kill-me-sterek-prompt)" prompt given to me on tumblr and I guess I was feeling quietly depressed because I actually wrote something to it. If you would like to request other Sterek prompts, please [feel free to do so!](http://monopolizeme.tumblr.com/post/43751632893/drabbles-send-me-characters-pairings-and-a-prompt) It takes me forever to reply to them though. :/


End file.
